


The Thing That Should Not Be

by DRandtheTARDIS



Category: LOVECRAFT H. P. - Works
Genre: Dark, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Gothic, Lovecraftian, Poetry, Psychological Horror, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 03:58:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10913862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DRandtheTARDIS/pseuds/DRandtheTARDIS
Summary: A poem inspired by H.P. Lovecraft's monsters and mythos, emphasizing the way in which these strange daemonic creatures molest and corrupt the soul.





	The Thing That Should Not Be

**Author's Note:**

> Always love to hear comments and whatnot, I do not often write poetry but instead, stick to short stories/stories/novels. I had a lot of fun writing this, however, and hope to do more in this gothic/Lovecraft style soon!

 

* * *

 

 Behold I do a Thing unfounded, grounded here–

unbounded, mounded up on stone and soot and sorrow

like some figment horror idolized, baptized

by hearth-side fire throwing shadow on the floor.

 

"Daemon!" cried I, "thing born of shadow! Leave thy hearth;

return no longer–no longer can my mind bear sorrow of such

horror that throws shadow on my floor."

 

A laugh–like beast or man I could not tell;

both perhaps, or neither still,

echoed loud the fine veneer upon my walls.

With face of fetid feeler and back of outstretched wing,

the Thing gave way untimely horrors best left

to volumes of forgotten lore.

 

But these Things they did not walk–no, they did not talk.

Instead by means unknown, my mind began to groan;

sound unfounded in belief nor founded within reason

shook me, took me to places I never dreamed of before.

Despite my strong resistance, it t'was in vain despite consistence,

a Thing so evil had never been stopped before.

 

"Witchcraft!" I proclaimed, "otherworldly magic!" The words

fell forth as if weighted, but eagerly I had waited–

waited, for what more could be done to defy this nameless lord.

 

As if some deluge of perverted fetish; bearing homage to nameless sadness,

bleak and loathsome madness that no man should ever have endure.

These squamous, stygian Things with stench so foul and fungal

overcame me–became me–throwing shadow on the floor.

 

As the night passed on there, I was grounded–

mounded–upon stone and soot and sorrow throwing shadow on the floor.

Standing now a figment horror, my soul unfounded for evermore.

Cry did I–longing for the morrow–slowly my brow began to furrow;

a transmutation I did borrow from many a volume of forgotten lore.

With face of fetid feeler and back of outstretched wing stood I;

eagerly urging for it to end yet will I might I could not rend apart my tattered soul.

 

But in vain I raged, for all I could possibly muster...was to stand before my hearth-fire mantle and throw a shadow on the floor.

 

 

* * *

 


End file.
